Page 60 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

“Doesn’t matter. I’m over it and over him. He doesn’t deserve any emotion from me.”

“No, he doesn’t. But you always do this.”

It’s dark out. Most stars are hidden by the clouds, but my eyes have adjusted enough to make out her judgmental expression. “I always do what?”

“You don’t stand up for yourself.”

“Wow, okay.” I separate our hands and cross my arms. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…” She drops her head back and studies the dark sky. “You’re this amazing guy, so fun and sweet, but as teens, you didn’t yell at me for ignoring you at school. You didn’t tell Mizhir his brush-offs hurt after he left for college. You didn’t ask your dad why he quit spending time with you that last year, although it’s clear it’s because he’s a scumbag. You refused to yell or tell someone off, and you’re still doing it. But I don’t know why.”

“What’s so good about yelling?” I keep my voice even, unwilling to let this escalate, even though my temper is rising. There’s also no point denying Maggie’s claims. I hate fights. I just don’t get the big deal. “Isn’t forgiveness the path of righteousness? I see it all the time in documentaries—people who’ve suffered grave losses go out of their way to forgive the perpetrator for closure. Even some prisoners of war forgive their captors. Forgiving my father is nothing compared to that.”

“This isn’t about forgiveness. This is about you burying your pain. You need to face your father.”

“I met with him, didn’t I?” Listened to the jerk as he tried to free himself of his guilt.

Her jaw bunches. “Yes, but you didn’t tell him how much his actions hurt you. You didn’t give him shit for ruining all your lives. If you don’t let out your true emotions, you won’t heal.”

“I’m healing just fine.” But my voice comes out stilted. A muscle in my jaw throbs. “Also, speaking of not letting out your true emotions, I just sat through dinner with your amazing family, can’t believe how lucky you are to have them, but you lied to them about work. You were freaked out about me even meeting them, and you keep hinting that there’s some trauma in your past that’s made you all messed up. If there’s a burying feelings contest going on, pretty sure you’d win.”

Maggie flinches, and her eyes go glassy.

A hot poker of guilt jabs at me. No one should be pushed to air personal issues before they’re ready. Now Maggie looks upset, and I feel like shit. This is why I don’t engage in conflict. I may have kept my tone in check, but what I said was insensitive.

“I’m sorry, Mags. You don’t have to share anything with me.”

“Actually—” she drops her arms to her sides and stands taller “—you have nothing to apologize for, and I do have to share my story with you. You deserve the truth.” She blinks rapidly and her chest pumps faster. “Yes, my family is amazing and loving. I couldn’t ask for better parents. But…my mom and dad aren’t actually my mom and dad. They aren’t my birth parents.”

chapter twenty-one

My mom and dad aren’t actually my mom and dad. I stare at Maggie, struggling to comprehend her words. She has the same hair and smile as her mother. There’s a striking family resemblance that’s impossible to miss. “I don’t understand.”

She wraps her arms around her middle and holds her elbows. “Jason and Dana are my aunt and uncle. Dana’s my mom’s sister, and they look a lot alike. They adopted me when I was little.”

“I had no idea.” I close the distance between us and run the backs of my fingers down her cheek. This is clearly a hard topic for her, which means the reasons behind the adoption aren’t straightforward. “Is your mom still alive?”

She nods, leaning into my touch.

“Will you tell me about her? About what happened?”

She closes her eyes, fiddles with the bottom edge of my jacket. Finally, she nods again. “Can we walk?”

“Of course.”

I take her hand this time, tuck our linked palms close to my side. I don’t push or prod or make a joke. We hit a slow stride. I listen to our steady footfalls and a hooting owl. Rustling leaves whisper to one another.

Maggie’s attention moves from the trees above us to the sticks and stones at our feet. “The best way to describe my mother is that she’s a loose cannon. A wild child who never grew up. She’s a junkie, but not with drugs. She’s an irresponsible and reckless pleasure-seeker, who acts before she thinks. Everything for her is about living in the moment.”

Sadly, I can relate to having an irresponsible and reckless parent, but hearing Maggie’s mother might have harmed her, emotionally or otherwise, has my vision turning spotty. “Please tell me she didn’t hurt you.”

“Not physically, no. But I sometimes wonder if physical pain would have been easier in some ways. Visible scrapes and cuts that heal, although I know that’s bullshit.” Her voice doesn’t waver, but she sounds resigned.

I squeeze her hand gently. “How old were you when you went to live with your aunt and uncle?”

“Two. After a particularly disturbing call, Dana went chasing after my mother and found me left behind in a motel room. She and Jason had plans to travel and work abroad, but they gave it all up to raise me.”

During our pond nights, when Maggie admitted she felt locked inside herself, playing a constant game of make-believe, she said something about working to make her parents proud. Mentioned that they gave up so much for her, as though their sacrifices weighed her down with guilt. “If they didn’t want and love you, they wouldn’t have taken you into their home and lives.”